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Notes from the Home - November 5, 2013

My electric
wheelchair is ailing. It seems to have some form of mechanical MS, which
perhaps it caught from me. The chair has become very undependable –another malady it might have caught from me –
and has been sitting idle since Thursday morning. I did bring the problem to
the attention of the Convalescent Care staff when one of its technicians was
out here a few weeks ago. He told me to periodically work the wheel-release
levers, because rust and dust can build up and affect the chair’s performance.
Mother would be so proud of me, I did as I was told, and for a week the problem
seemed to be solved.

Then the chair developed a mind of its own,
refusing to turn when told, suddenly swerving when it hadn’t been told, and
occasionally obstinately sitting there and saying, “Fat chance, bub.” That is
what happened Thursday. I was on my way back from properly disposing of some
trash when the chair got obstinate and refused to go any further. I released
the wheels, shot Judy, one of the cleaning ladies, a look of utter
helplessness, she asked if I needed a push, and I said “Oh, would you?”

I had called Convalescent Care earlier that
morning and called them again around noon. The service request was in the basket,
the woman assured me, but she was uncertain if a technician would make it out
that day. I told her, if they couldn’t make it today not to bother sending
anyone Friday when I’d be at the Emory Clinic.

No service technician darkened the doorway to
my apartment that day, and I spent the weekend in my manual chair. Covenant
Woods is not manual-wheelchair friendly. The hallway from the B building, where
I live, to the main lobby and dining room is long and uphill. But the real
problem has been adapting to doing the everyday things in the apartment. By
everyday things, I mean things like standing up so I can get into bed.

The electric chair is several hundred pounds
of batteries and hardware. Push on it, and it ain’t going nowhere. The manual
chair weighs considerably less. For that matter, it weighs considerably less
than I do. Saturday, I spent a lot of time practicing how to get up from the
wheelchair and into bed. Sunday, short on energy, or short on confidence, or
short on both, I failed to make it.

It all started after I had spent several
hours with Russ and Karen, who had carted me to Target and Publix and bought me
lunch at The Egg and I. When we were done, I was done in and ready for a nap.
The bed looked so inviting. Too bad I couldn’t manage to get in it. I went from
being tired to being frustrated and tired as I tried without success to get out
of the chair and into the sack. Convinced that all I needed was someone to hold
the wheelchair as I transferred, I called Russ. No answer.

Then I had an idea. Why not put the idle
electric wheelchair to work. It was next to the bed. I lowered myself on to the
floor and, bracing myself on the wheelchair, tried to push myself up far enough
that I could fall into bed. I might have made it if my left ankle worked
better. But it doesn’t, and I laid there on the floor and tried to figure out
my next move. Then the phone rang. It was Russ. “If you’re not doing anything,
come save me,” I said, or words to that effect. He said he’d be right over.

Once
Russ arrived I did my best to be the all-knowing father I’m sure he’s always
considered me. “Look, why don’t you … No, maybe it would be better … Wait, move
the wheelchair …No, that won’t work …”And while I was devising a fool-proof plan, Russ got behind me, ran his
arms beneath my armpits, clutched his hands in front of me and hoisted me onto
my feet, easily, with no help from me. All I had to do then was pirouette and
sit down on the bed.

I was impressed. It’s been well over a year
since I last tipped a scale. I was 175 then, and I have to be all that and at
least fifteen or twenty more pounds now. I wondered if Russ had taken up
weightlifting. His Uncle Bill and cousin Kevin are accomplished weightlifters.
Last week, Kevin posted a video of him lifting 500 pounds. And Loni, Russ’ once
diminutive cousin, occasionally posts pictures of her now muscular self on
Facebook.

“Are you working out?”

“No. I walk a lot. And I had to carry a lot
of heavy boxes when I worked for Barnes & Noble.”

He must have been in charge of moving the
heavy tomes.

There is no surprise more pleasant than
having your child surprise you with abilities you didn’t know he or she had. It
makes a father proud.

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